


Record Store Drabble

by poyitjdr



Category: Homestuck
Genre: John is mentioned, M/M, Overused AU, awkward attempts at flirting, mostly dialogue tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-12
Updated: 2016-06-12
Packaged: 2018-07-14 14:57:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7176512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poyitjdr/pseuds/poyitjdr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dave and Karkat meet in a record store and Dave is awkward. Good job Dave. I'm proud of you, son.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Record Store Drabble

**Author's Note:**

> I know nothing about mixing, I just sort of guessed to the best of my ability. I love music, but it’s not my forte (lmao) by any means. Also I relate to both of these characters a lot and throwing them into awkward situations is pretty darn fun. Please forgive me and offer constructive criticism for any mistakes or OOC behaviors (I pretty much only write fanfiction when it’s 3 am and I can’t sleep so I won’t be offended if you think it’s bad. I think it's horrible and it's really not my best by any means buuuut it's what you're getting, so I'm sorry.)

                You’ve never been a social person; your idea of a good time has always been relaxing with your beats and getting lost in the music. Alone. So finding yourself throwing glances at a stranger in the record store is as big of a surprise to yourself as it is too said stranger. He seems oblivious, too lost in his search for who-knows-what to notice your socially inappropriate behavior. His lips curl into a snarl as he shoves a vinyl back onto it’s shelf before beginning to turn on his heel.

                Perhaps he would have just continued to browse the overpriced items, or maybe he would’ve stomped out of the store in a silent, but fuming rage. But he does neither of these things because for a moment, your eyes meet; for a moment you almost-smile at him; for a fraction of a moment, he almost-smiles back. Then the moment is gone on a quick breeze, but you wish you could snatch it back. You see his arm reach back for the album he had thrust down and he pulls it to his chest in a slight hug. You smile for real, a toothy split-second reaction before dipping your head back down to the discs in front of you, feeling incredibly embarrassed by your momentary lapse of self-control. You refused to look back up and admit you acted like a dork, so you figured the stranger had made his purchase and left when you heard the entrance bell ding. Part of you wanted to droop in disappointment and the other part resigned itself to your task at hand. 

                You did come here for a purpose other than accidentally ogling strangers, so you get to work finding your needed item. One of your close friends, John, had requested a mix by you for his birthday and you knew exactly what track to use- Ghostbusters. It had been his obsession for years and even if he got pink in the face whenever the topic was brought up, you figured he would lose his shit over it. The only issue was obtaining the track. Naturally, you could just upload the song via youtube or some other method and add in your own tracks for effect, but it didn’t feel right to do it that way. Your plan was to create an original mix for him with snippets of Ghostbusters snuck in. There was already a tune playing in your head on repeat that you had devised for the mix. It was already in the right key- B Major- but its melody rivaled the song in the best way.

                “What song are you humming?” You startle at the close proximity of the voice and stumble with the record in your hand before facing the source of the noise. The stranger from earlier is looking at you intently, his bushy eyebrows furrowed in what you assume to be concentration.

                You reply in a completely non-embarrassing way that would make your ancestors proud with a choked “what”. He looks thoroughly unimpressed and you can’t even begin to blame him for judging you. Wow, Strider, great conversational skills.

                “I asked what song you’re humming.” His eyes are a deep brown, almost red in color and his skin is smooth and more tan than you could ever dream of being. A mop of black hair resides on his head- and you say that because, in that mess, something may actually be able to take shelter.

                “Oh. It’s uh- just something I wrote.” His eyebrows shoot up and you can’t help but feel slightly offended at his surprise. “Why’d you ask?”

                “Because its stuck in my head and the only thing worse than the same song on perma-repeat in your head is not knowing what it is.”

                “True that, man. You said it’s stuck in your head… I wasn’t humming that loudly, was I?”

                “Not particularly. I just figured I would find out why the douche in sunglasses kept looking at me or least in my general direction. Ever been told you have a staring problem? Cause news flash? You do.”

                “Sorry about that. You’re just very animated, I guess? Like I almost couldn’t help but look. I thought you were gonna tear that thing in two at one point.” You gesture at the bag dangling in his grip.

                “At one point so did I. Seriously, these prices are fucking ridiculous. Should I pay $40 for an obscure and previously owned record? Hmm, I don’t fucking know! But I guess I’ll have to just because it’s my kind of luck that this is the only copy I’ve been able to find.”

                “You’re preaching to the choir here, dude. What was it?”

                “Some indie band from the early 2000’s. My friend, who is a douche-“

                “Alright then-“

                “Literally begged me on his hands and knees to get it for him. What are you looking for?”

                “Ghostbusters.”

                “And here I was thinking I was talking to an intelligent life-form. Well, I guess we all make mistakes. Like wanting to own a copy of the most annoying song on the planet.”

                “Excuse you, I never said I was getting it for myself.”

                “Are you?”

                “Technically, yes. But it’s so I can use for a mix for my best friend. Who happens to have made the mistake of wanting to ever damage his ears with this song.”

                “I suppose I can forgive you for that offense to humanity.”

                “So gracious.” You smirk at him before running your fingers across a row of cases, “BTW, the name’s Strider.”

                “Did you just say ‘BTW’ instead of using actual words? Is that really a thing that just happened?”

                “Yes, Mr…”

                “Vantas.” You grin at him mischievously and his face falls. “Don’t you dare.”

                “I wouldn’t dream of it Vant-ass. That wouldn’t be very Vantastic of me, would it?”

                “I swear to every deity that was even supposed to exist.”

                “You really shouldn’t swear Rantas.”

                “Strider- cut the bullshit.”

                “So, does Mr. Vantas have a first name that isn’t mister?”

                “Yes, but I’m not telling you because the jokes will be never-ending.”

                “Now I’ve gotta know. Mine’s Dave.”

                “I could’ve sworn it was giant asshole. Damn, wrong again.”

                “That’s my middle name.”

                “I’m so sure.”

                “Actually it’s Elizabeth.”

                “Wow, I am 0% convinced.”

                “I’m legit serious. Like you could look at my birth certificate. It says ‘Dave Elizabeth Strider.’”

                “Not David?”

                “Nah, wasn’t ironic enough. Just Dave here. No fancy ass socialite David drinking wine and having an affair with a prostitute because my wife loves me as much as I love myself, which is bottomed out at 0%, no love for the rich.  Gotta find new meaning in my life cause these empty bottles are like my promises in that they don’t fulfill anything ‘cept another wish for premature death.”

                “What the fuck was that.”

                “A famous Strider ramble. Though I have to admit that one was depressing as hell. So, you should tell me your first name now to lighten the mood.”

                “What mood?”

                “Can you not feel this obvious romantic tension dripping off of awkward conversation?”

                “No.”

                “My heart, it’s shattered.”

                “Good fucking riddance.”

                “Ouch.” You smirk at him lightly, “So, would you be interested in my phone number or anything cause you seem like an alright person.”

                “Alright person? Hold up, I gotta go call my mom and let her know that a stranger said I was ‘alright’. She’ll be so proud of me.”

                “Okay how about hella-decent and I don’t think you would be a creep and stalk me?”

                “Fine. How about pesterchum or something? I don’t like giving my number out.”

                “Works for me. Do you want to just type it in your phone?”

                “Sounds good. Okay- what is it?”

                “TurntechGodhead. Capital T-u-r-n-t-e-c-h- Capital G-o-d-h-e-a-d.”

                “Great, I’ll message you later then. I should probably get going.” He shrugs awkwardly and you nod in response.

                “Talk to you later. Get out of here already, jeez. Loitering is illegal. I think.” He shakes his head and you offer a fist bump that he hesitantly accepts. “Bye, Vant-ass.”

                “Bye douche in shades.”

                “I’ll take it.”  

**Author's Note:**

> Please ignore my existence and the fact that I have ever written a word in my life. This is my dearest wish. Thank you.


End file.
